


Awaken to a dream

by RubyRollup



Series: Tom and Iris [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyRollup/pseuds/RubyRollup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris wakes up...to a dream that has become reality</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaken to a dream

Iris often wondered whether others experienced dreams the way she did. To describe them as ‘sensory’ would be quite the understatement. She felt everything – a tickle, a breeze, a kiss – everything felt real, and she would only realize that she was dreaming when she found herself alone, in her bed, heart racing or drenched in her own sweat.

This morning, despite the slight headache, she awoke with a smile. It had been a few months since she’d dreamt of him…but last night she had, and dream visits from Tom always put her in the best mood. Even the bed felt warmer than usual. After a languid stretch, she reached back to feel for her specs, only to find her hand colliding with something that felt suspiciously like a nose. Confusion turned into alarm when a sleepy “Ow!” came from behind her.

Whipping around to face the direction the sound was coming from, her astonished brown eyes met sleepy blue ones under an unruly bronze canopy.  _I must still be sleeping_ , she thought, until –

“Surely I should be scowling like that after being punched awake.”

Iris scrambled out of the bed. She moved so quickly, not taking her eyes off the man lying in her bed, and proceeded to trip over the clothes that littered her floor.

“Ow!” she moaned, rubbing her backside.

The body in the bed shot up. “Are you alright?” he asked, hand outstretched and reaching for her.

“No!” she exclaimed, holding her hands in front of her to stop him, as if her ‘No’ wasn’t enough. “I’m fine. Stay where you are. And for God’s sake, can you put a shirt on! A semi-nude Tom Hiddleston is not helping me to remember how he ended up in my bed.”

The sheet had fallen to his waist as he sat up, revealing only a pair of black boxers. Tom sat back, stifling a laugh.

“I would oblige, darling, but I can’t put my shirt back on unless _you_ take it off.”

Only then did she look down at herself, wearing her black panties and a grey t-shirt. She did not own a grey t-shirt. She did not own any t-shirt that fit like a tent. Why was she not in her pyjamas??

“And, I’d be more than happy to explain how I ended up in your bed.”

She raised an eyebrow in expectation.

“I was invited.”

Her eyes widened, but he silenced her before she could contest. “Well, at least that’s the impression I gave an over-eager gentleman at the club last night. He looked like he had less than noble intentions…but then again, I suppose I can’t blame him, after the invitation you issued to him.”

It all came flooding back. And she was a little distressed at discovering that her dream was in fact not a dream, but memories of the previous night. What was supposed to be Girls’ night out to celebrate her resignation ended in her drinking alone; not overly much, but more than usual so as to make her forget about her best friend abandoning her that night, and to make her relaxed enough to flirt with some random guy to. She remembered feeling a hand at her elbow, and hearing a, ‘Hey darling, sorry I’m late,’ and being steered away. Of course, he was an absolute gentleman. He hailed a taxi and even got in with her to make sure she got to her place safely.

Tom chuckled, watching as realization dawned, her face growing pinker by the second.

She hung her head in her hands and groaned. 

“Everyone gets drunk at some point in their life – and I’m going to safely assume that you don’t do this often, since you started giggling uncontrollably after your second tequila shot.” His voice sunk a little. "Also...you may not remember this, but your second drink was doctored. I'm happy that you are this alert now."

She most definitely did not get drunk often. At all.

“I’m so sorry...for all the trouble I've put you through.”

"Please, there's no need to apologise."

"'Thank you' seems so inadequate for what you've done for a complete stranger...but thank you."

Her earlier indignation had now completely morphed into mortification. A few hours ago she invited him into her bed and practically undressed him – now she couldn’t look him in the eye. Awake and lucid, blank spaces filled, and realizing that the man of her dreams was semi-nude in her bed (and she was too) and that his eyes were fixed on her, she could feel a blush steal over her entire body.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” she asked.

Tom watched her get up off the floor, duck into her bathroom and emerge almost immediately, wearing a robe with his t-shirt draped over her arm.

Iris felt a little more secure now that she was covered.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him his t-shirt. “We didn’t…?” She couldn’t finish her question.

“No, we didn’t,” he answered, slipping his t-shirt over his head. “After we got you into bed, I was ready to leave…but you asked me to stay and for my t-shirt.” He laughed, remembering her giggle. “I find that I can rarely disoblige a lady.”

Iris didn’t think it was possible to blush more than she had already been doing but proved herself wrong.

“I’m really sorry for all the trouble. But thank you, for taking care of me.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Iris.”

A slightly uncomfortable silence hung between them for a minute, before a noise from Tom’s stomach broke it. Iris giggled (and spotted an opportunity to spend more time with him). “So, if you’ll let me, how about breakfast to say thanks.”

He laughed. “Actually, I won’t mind taking you up on that.”

She smiled, genuinely, for the first time, and for a moment it took his breath away.

“Okay,” she said. “I just want to slip into the shower real quick, if that’s okay. I know you probably need to be somewhere.”

“Not today. Please, take your time.”

“I won’t be long.” She grabbed some things from a chest of drawers and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Tom sat on the bed, grateful for many things – for her not calling the police on him; for her offer to make him breakfast; most of all, for the sheet, covering his reaction to her. He’d noticed her as soon as she walked into the club – her green dress drew his eye immediately, reminding him of his Loki costume – and he continued to watch her as the evening wore on; her tentative demeanour when she came in, which mellowed dramatically after her first shot; the way she swayed with the music. She was so out of place but sexy somehow, and he could not take his eyes off her.

And the way she looked this morning, on the floor, slightly smudged eye make-up, messy bed hair, in nothing but her underwear and his t-shirt… As hungry as he was for food, he was hungrier for her. He stared at the bathroom door…and realized that he did not hear a lock.

Iris unwound under the steaming spray. _Tom Hiddleston was in my bed…and is in my apartment…_ she thought, smiling wistfully. A few things hit her, as she lazily tried to scrub her back with the loofa – he called her by her name (she didn’t remember him asking or her volunteering the information), he’d been able to tell her what she drank at the club; he’d basically saved her from a potentially life-ruining mistake. She tried to squash the feeling that he may have noticed her earlier on during the previous evening, well before the events that threw them together.

It was impossible to quantify the dreams she’s had of Tom. Waking up to him in her bed…well, not even she had dreamt that. And he was going to stay for breakfast. She started, as she felt the loofa being taken from her hand.

“Wh-” she started to say as she turned around, before a finger on her lips silenced her.

She looked up, into a darkening blue gaze that made her feel more naked than she already was. The hand moved from her lips to curl around the damp hair at her nape, and the other curved around her back, pressing her flush against him. She could feel his arousal through the fabric of his boxers.

“What are you doing?” she choked out in a whisper.

“Something I’ve wanted to do since you sashayed your beautiful self into that club last night,” he murmured before descending to claim her lips.

Tom was gentle but insistent, the hand in her hair making its way down to lock with the other one at the small of her back, deepening his kiss as her arms encircled his neck. Without breaking contact, he turned and pinned her against the cold shower wall with his hips, his hands exploring every inch of the moist, warm skin between her knees and shoulders.

Iris was lost. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she was aware that this was very wanton behaviour, very unlike her, but she couldn’t make herself stop. A delicious tension was building in the pit of her stomach, working its way down to her core. When his tongue found hers…had she not been pressed against the wall with him cradling her rear, she would have melted into a puddle at his feet.

Tom was not as far gone as Iris, but her tortured moans was his undoing. He broke away from her just long enough to shut the faucet off and haul her out of the shower (that space was _not_ big enough for him to do all he wanted to with her). She was in his arms again, being kissed and walked back into her bedroom.

Suddenly the backs of her knees hit the bed, and Tom gently eased her back. Iris felt the blush again, as he lifted his head to gaze at her.

“No,” he said, catching her hands as she brought them up cover herself. Threading his fingers with hers, he lowered his head again, and kissed a wet trail from her lips, down her throat…

Iris gasped as he took one dusky peak into his mouth, her back arching off the bed. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she yanked him back up to her and, to his surprise, rolled him onto his back. Straddling him, she lowered her head and proceeded to torture him as he did.

His laugh died in his throat as her tongue and teeth scraped his nipple. While her mouth was busy, her hands went on a lower exploration, over the bumps and lines of his abdomen, tracing the thin trail of hair starting just below his navel. He caught her hand just as it got to the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growled, rolling her onto her back and pinning her hands above her head. He needed a minute to catch his breath, but her flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips and smouldering gaze almost took it away again. He captured her lips again. The earthquake unfurling within her was becoming unbearable. Her hands were still imprisoned, and the only way she could express her urgency was through the moans that escaped through both of their lips and by pressing herself against him, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis.

He reluctantly broke the kiss to look at her, into eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Please.” It comes out in a tortured plea.

She wouldn’t have to ask twice.

Bracing himself on his forearm, he reached down to lower the last remaining barrier between them.

A gasp escaped her lips and her eyes closed as he sank into her, a tear rolling down each cheek. He stilled.

“Am I hurting you?”

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“Then why the tears?”

Iris shook her head. “Proof that I'm awake.”

 _She dreams about this? About him?_ Relief and some other unnamed emotion washed over him…and he started to move. Slowly at first, and then faster and deeper with each thrust until he was buried so deep in her, he couldn’t tell where he began and she ended. The sheets were now tightly fisted in her small hands and he felt her tighten around him, screaming her release, at the same time his own poured through him.

Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers. He opened them only as he felt her hand come up to touch her face. Only then did he notice that her face was wet.

He had some experience with women, but post-coital tears were new for him. It didn’t follow that they made him uncomfortable – they were silent, coupled with an embrace, evidence that they were not tears of sadness or regret.

Tom couldn’t name what he was feeling. He only knew that it had been one of the most singular experiences of his life.

For the first time, he couldn’t find words…but leaned down to capture her tear-stained lips and poured his feelings into his kiss, her hands finding their way into his hair as his tongue found its way to hers.

She broke away from his lips but not from him.

For a while they stayed like that; still connected, his ear over her heart, listening to her slowing heartbeat, her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there.

 


End file.
